Bunny, Bunny
by O.Y.F.Inc
Summary: In the tumultuous times of the Toutoh Empire, there are two individuals, drawn together by seemingly bizarre means... and, no matter how unethical their love is in society, neither crime or law will stop them... Shouta/Usaki
1. Chapter 1

_This is my first chapter, of my first story, as a part of O.Y.F.Inc. _

_The name of this story is: _Bunny, Bunny

_Author: _Kaida

_Fandom: _DOLLS by Naked Ape

_Pairing: _Mikoshiba ShoutaxToudou Usaki; **given name last  
**

_An author's note will be attached to the beginning and end of each chapter. For any additional information, please do not hesitate to review or PM O.Y.F.Inc. I will respond ASAP._

_Let the madness begin._

:--:

**Chapter One**

The glass doors slid open cautiously, silently. Leather soles clacked against the marble floor of the hollow building, the few inhabitants nodding politely as the man whisked by.

However, this man was not a man by his choice. He was only twenty years old. No, not even. He had turned nineteen half a year ago. And yet, the face of unfeeling nothing, the emotionless mask, so perfectly tailored, appeared to be so much older than he truly was. Not particularly tall, he had blonde hair (contradictory to his heritage) messily, carelessly framing soulless grey eyes. The plain, silver, frameless glasses did nothing to the appearance of his face, except to correct his vision. His hands were large and capable, hands that had tested many guns and weapons as was fit for his line of duty.

When he entered this job, he was eighteen. He had trained for nearly a year, but graduated early and was accepted into the most renowned division in this particular career—Brigade I. But however spectacular this boy sounded, his name was simply Toudou Usaki. His classmates knew him as the Talented Boy—they had nothing else to call him by. His personality was devoid of originality. Toudou was handsome, yes, but his blank expression and detached aura was undesirable—thus he was reduced to the status not much different from a porcelain doll; something beautiful to look at but nothing you should ever touch.

Usaki's face had settled into a somewhat distracted look. It was an improvement for him, he who did not smile and was always about business. As he walked further and further back into the confines of the building, the surrounding area changed from grand to comfortable to plain. What was marble was now carpet, worn by the many pairs of shoes that walked upon it each and every day. Its simple matte pattern was fitting for the plaster surroundings, with plain wooden doors inset in the walls. Toudou scanned each door as he passed, looking for a certain one that was no different from the rest. Finally finding what he was looking for, he knocked three times and opened the door.

"Usagi-kun! You're late!" A bright, chirpy voice bounced at him.

"…It's Usaki. I'm not a rabbit."

"Hey, Usagi. Old man almost started the report without you!" A kind, masculine voice chided. Usaki turned to the man in the chair and bowed; a proper sign of apology.

"I apologize for my tardiness. I will do my best to prevent it from happening—" The man with the kind voice interrupted his recitation with a laugh, while the head sighed, sinking back into the armchair.

"It's only two minutes, Usagi! And it's like this every Tuesday—we know by now." Usaki frowned slightly.

"Do I really come late regularly like that? I apologize, Captain Mikoshiba." Mikoshiba Shouta, his dark, straight hair sifting in front of his eyes, stood with a grin.

"Ah-h. I don't get an apology?" The man with the chirpy voice asked. Shikibu Seiju was such an effeminate and affectionate person; it was surprising that he stayed in this line of work at all. He was often mistaken for a woman with his long, dark hair and feminine voice.

"Ah…I'm sorry, Shikibu-san."

"Let us start the report…"

:--:

Once the meeting was over and done with, and the report had been properly turned in and analyzed, Usaki stood in the plain, boring hallway, debating as to where he should go. It didn't take him long to decide to visit his brother—Iori.

Iori. Iori. He was Usaki's twin, the very essence of his happiness and emotions. What Iori felt, Usaki felt. But now that Iori was stuck in a perpetual dream-state…

They both felt nothing.

Usaki weaved through the crowd, the waves of people sweeping upon him in rushes and bursts. He was pushed pass the hospital, to his…dismay?...and found himself at the subway. There was no way he could push himself back to the hospital.

On the platform, he saw a familiar head of dark, straight hair. Another figure, all 5'2" was next to the towering figure.

Inspector Hasui Tamao, the very irksome police investigator—one who always got in the way of their job. Short, loud and demanding, like a Chihuahua.

"But Shou-chan! You said that we could go shopping today! Because my other favorite cup has a crack in it!"

"…I never said that. And how many favorite cups do you have?" Usaki watched, bemused, perhaps, at their teasing and…at the Captain's outstanding ability to blend in. As the train pulled in, the wind whizzed by the bystanders, blowing Usaki's blonde hair into his face. He boarded the train, along with Inspector Hasui and the Captain, knowing full well that they lived only a street away from him and got off on the same stop. It would be a lengthy hour-long ride—he did his best to morph into what was the contemporary teenager; trademark slouch, a natural scowl, ear buds plugged in rebelliously. But his routine was spoiled—most probably because he was on the subway on Tuesday at 6:00 PM, instead of 8:00 PM.

"Hey, you." Usaki looked up to a finger pointed rudely at his nose. "Can you move? We usually sit here."

Did he just hear the inspector right? Was he honestly getting defensive over 'usual seats'? Yes, he looked like a convincing delinquent, but…

"…I—" Shouta, behind Hasui, shook his head and put his hand in a 'stay' signal.

"…Is that you, Kenji? Don't you ride this subway often?" Shouta asked Usaki.

"Ah…Cap—Mikoshiba-san…yeah, I do…" Usaki answered, carefully, tentatively.

"Usually you aren't here on Tuesdays, at least, at this time. Doesn't the boss keep you later?" A casual, open question. It was like an improvisation act—risky and requiring a lot of personality.

"Ah…Mi…koshiba-san. You didn't…hear? I was fired." Shouta, looking pleased at Usaki's unusual response, quickly drew his face into a perplexed frown.

"Oh, Tama-chan," Usaki looked away, embarrassed, at the nickname. "You've heard about all those lay offs? Horrible, really…I have no idea what the government will think of next…What on earth are they spending our money on?"

"…Well, I don't know. Even those in the force don't know. Ugh, I bet they're spending it all on the Tokkei…" The petite man growled. Usaki and Shouta both felt a shiver crawl up their spines.

"Sorry, Mikoshiba-san and…"

"You can call me Tamao."

"Tamao-san. I'll move if you like." Hasui was about to say something, until Shouta cut him off quickly.

"It's fine. We can sit across from you—we don't discuss important stuff anyway."

That statement was a command. _Hasui, don't talk about it. Usaki, you're a boy; a stupid, willing boy who doesn't like to disappoint. So don't disappoint me._

The rest of the ride was filled with idle chatter mostly on Hasui's part and discomfited silences. Soon, they reached their stop and split ways silently at 7:01 PM.

:--:

_I bow to you, reader, as I am very pleased to see that you have completed this very first chapter of mine, on the very first story, _Bunny, Bunny_. You make me feel terribly accomplished as you finish this piece, and I thank you for your tolerance and indulgence in this one particle among giants._

_Treat me well, and I will do my best to fufill your dreams._

_Again, an author's note will be attatched to the beginning and end of each chapter, and for any suggestions or questions, please do not hesitate to review or PM O.Y.F.Inc. I will get to you ASAP._

_Thank you, again, for your indulgence._

:-**Kaida**-:


	2. Chapter 2

_The name of this story is: _Bunny, Bunny

_Author: _Kaida

_Fandom: _DOLLS by Naked Ape

_Pairing: _Mikoshiba ShoutaxToudou Usaki; **given name last**

_An author's note will be attached to the beginning and end of each chapter. For any additional information, please do not hesitate to review or PM O.Y.F.Inc. I will respond ASAP._

_Let the madness begin._

:--:_  
_

**Chapter Two**

Usaki followed the same route to the back of the misleading building. When he entered the plain, unique door, Shouta was there—on time—with no one else in the room.

"I'm impressed." Usaki furrowed his eyebrows.

"…Pardon?" Shouta grinned.

"I'm impressed that you were able to pull out enough of your imagination to be able to think of that."

"…Thank you, sir." The captain rolled his eyes.

"My name," he said, stepping toward his blonde subordinate, "is Mikoshiba Shouta. Please use it." Usaki continued to stare soullessly at the dark haired man, who towered over him by at least half a head. Shouta sighed. "All right, be that way." Running a hand through his straight, dark hair he sought a chair and sat down in it. He waved Usaki to one across from the one where he was sitting.

"…Captain?" Shouta sighed, aggravated.

"What did I just say?"

"…Mikoshiba-san." The captain rolled his eyes once more.

"I guess beggars can't be choosers."

"What have you called me here for?"

"Can't I see you on a friendly basis, and not because of work?" The dark haired man grinned.

Usaki stood up. "Today is our day off, Captain Mikoshiba. I'd like to have it to myself." His face a mask, the blonde began making his way to the door.

Raising an eyebrow, the captain stopped grinning. "All right, if you really feel that way. What do you do," he continued, opening the door to the hall and walking the blonde to the lobby, "on these days anyway?"

Usaki paused, fists clenched. "What is my business is my business. It is not for others to gossip over." He turned and gave Shouta a curt, precise bow. "Thank you for your time." His head never rose fully to give the captain a full view of his face.

Shouta hummed. Had he glimpsed a bit of regret in the boy's normally stoic features? Watching the retreating back, he hummed again. Usaki would hate him for this, but since he hardly had anything better to do…he could follow Usaki.

It was winter, and the both of them were dressed in warm trench coats—Usaki in a nondescript tan one with brass buckles and Shouta in a smart black one with silver clasps. Shouta had slipped on his fake, square glasses so that his identity would be obscured. As Usaki kept up a brisk walk from street to street, the dark haired man nearly lost sight of him once or twice. But as Shouta kept an eye on Usaki, he noticed exactly where the boy was going.

The hospital.

A while ago, Shouta had found with the help of a friend in the intel department files on Usaki. There wasn't much—just the very basic information: name, DOB, place of birth, parents, siblings, and a brief summary of his past.

However, Usaki had a twin sibling—in a coma.

Was that who he was visiting?

They both entered the hospital, Shouta discreetly trailing Usaki to the lobby. The receptionist, a cute young lady, seemed to recognize Usaki.

"Ah, Toudou-san…I'm sorry, but…you can't visit him today."

Shouta sat down at a chair and picked up a magazine, opening it and pretending to read. He glanced at Usaki, who suddenly looked very fidgety.

"…Why not?"

The lady shifted nervously. "Ah, the doctor…I can't say, Toudou-san. I'm sorry."

Usaki fixed her with a steady stare. "You can't say?"

She looked down, abashed. "…He said that Iori-san is in no condition to have visitors today." A small bow to the blonde. "I'm sorry. There is nothing more I can do for you."

Usaki gave a small, uncertain nod and turned around.

Shouta quickly brought up the magazine to his face, avoiding any contact with the blonde.

"…Captain Mikoshiba?" The dark-haired man looked up to see the blonde looking incredulously in his direction.

"…Oh. Usagi. What a coincidence!"

"…Sir, with all due respect…" He motioned towards the magazine in the captain's hands. "…it's upside-down."

Shouta blanched, and turned it right side up hastily. "Ah. Well, you see, you'll learn this as you get older…ah, different viewpoints provide different pieces of information."

"…Again, with all due respect, isn't that common sense?" The blonde raised a fine eyebrow. He sighed. "Captain…you don't need to follow me around. What is my business is my business."

Shouta shook his head. "I know. You've told me that before."

"Then why are you following me around like a common stalker?" Usaki's voice rose a little bit, and the receptionist looked up.

"Is…everything all right, sirs?"

The captain stood up. "Ah, yes. Everything is fine. Sorry to bother you—we were just about to leave." The receptionist smiled easily and inclined her head politely.

"Have a good afternoon, sirs."

Shouta grabbed Usaki's arm and literally pushed him outside.

"H-hey! Cap—" Shouta quickly cut off Usaki's shout of indignation.

"Mikoshiba-san, Kenji." He murmured. Giving the blonde a quick pat on the back, he called out jovially, "Aah, Kenji! I can't believe how long it's been—let us have a drink, to celebrate our reunion, eh?"

Usaki immediately looked panicked. "Mikoshiba-san! What are you talking about? I…have things to attend to today."

"Says the poor, unemployed Kenji! You're coming with me!" And the poor blonde was dragged, protesting all the way, to the subway station.

:--:

"Captain Mikoshiba! Why did you bring me here?"

"Calm down, Usagi, okay? I just want company. It's boring around here."

Usaki inspected his surroundings. "Captain Mikoshiba…Inspector Tamao might come back here, soon, right? And if he sees me…"

"We can tell him that we're trying to figure out something for your 'work' situation, eh? Calm down, okay, Usagi?" Usaki threw a suspicious glare at Shouta, but continued to check the apartment that the captain had brought him to.

"…Rather small, for two people…" The blonde noted as he took a seat on a old, soft couch. Shouta stiffened.

"Yeah, well, it was nice and cozy before Tamao decided to move in…without asking me, of course."

"…Of course."

"He's so spontaneous, it's irksome, sometimes, you know? Hey, you want some tea?"

"Ah…black tea?" Shouta made a face.

"Ew. You can actually drink that stuff?"

"…It…helps to keep me awake," Usaki muttered. Shouta frowned, but turned around.

"Aah! It looks like we don't have that," Shouta called from the pantry exaggeratedly. "We do have white tea, though."

"I'll—"

"White tea it is!" The captain overrode the protest that was just beginning to form on Usaki's lips. A few silent minutes later, Shouta walked out of the kitchen with two steaming cups in hand. "Drink up, eh, Usagi?"

"Ah…Thank you very much…" He accepted the cup politely and took a small sip of the tea. Then he almost dropped the cup.

"Eh? Are you okay, Usagi?"

"So…hot…oww…" The blonde had quickly set the cup on the coffee table, nursing his burnt lips with his fingers. Shouta grinned.

"I thought you were more careful than that, Usagi!" Usaki managed to smile a tiny smile before he picked up the still steaming cup once more. "Careful…" Shouta sang as Usaki blew on the tea warily.

"I know, I know…" The dark haired man watched as his co-worker cautiously took another sip. Usaki winced as he swallowed the tea, but deemed it bearable. When he looked up from his cup, however, he almost whacked his forehead against Shouta's. "Captai—"

"Oh, shut up, Usagi. Your eyes," he sighed wearily, "have circles around them. Are you sleeping at all?" The captain took his seat from across Usaki once more, scrutinizing the teen in front of him.

Silence blanketed the pair, leaving both feeling very awkward.

"…Usagi," Shouta grinned, making the teen feel very exposed (what a predatory grin!) "You've just created a gay baby."

Usaki was at a total loss for words. "…Pardon?"

"You. Have. Just. Created. A. Gay. Baby," Shouta reiterated.

After another few moments of awkward silence, Usaki shot back: "With all due respect, _Captain_, I'm not a woman, and _I'm not gay._" His face was red, his nerves were frazzled...Usaki was everything that Shouta had been aiming for for months.

Next step.

Shouta sidled up to Usaki suggestively. Their sides were meshed against each other, and the blonde started to get even more bothered and red. "What are you—"

Dipping his graceful neck towards the teen's face, Shouta offered an undecipherable grin. "Usagi…"

The next moment, Shouta was on the ground, sprawled out with limbs akimbo, and Usaki straddling his waist. There was a metallic gleam in his hands—a loaded gun, safety switched off. Shouta pouted.

"My, Usagi, in a bit of a hurry, eh?" He watched, bemused, as the blonde's face grew redder and redder. With a mixed sense of disappointment and relief, Shouta watched as Usaki switched the safety back on. But he didn't get off.

"…Must I remind you—I'm _not gay_." Usaki's face was furiously red, and his breath caught in his throat as Shouta began to run his fingers languidly up and down his pants leg.

"But Usagi…" Shouta crooned lowly, eyes lazily directed at the blonde. His fingers kept crawling up and down Usagi's pants leg, taking their sweet time with every step. "You seem like you rather—dare I say it?—_enjoy_ this." The slim, dexterous fingers continued to slither up and down Usagi's leg,

Usaki's head was bowed, his breaths unsteady and shallow. His eyes were closed in a sign of perplexity and discord. Unknowingly, he had laced his long, thin fingers into Shouta's soft turtleneck. "…S…top…" Shouta pretended not to hear and allowed his fingers to travel up, the leg, past the knee. "S…top. Stop. Stop! Captain!" The dark haired man's eyes shot up at the alarmed and almost desperate tone that had taken over the teen's voice. Shouta's fingers stopped in the process.

"Usagi? Hey, you know I was just kidding around, right? Hey, Usagi?" Completely contrary to his bold behavior a few seconds before, Shouta reached out a tentative hand and waved it in front of the blonde's face.

Usaki scrambled off Shouta, his face turned to the side, and his expression masked. The captain sat up, propping himself up on his elbows, and stared at the blonde. Finally, Usaki moved.

"I…" he stood up, hands still quivering slightly. "I…need to attend to some business. Please excuse me." The teen was about to run out of the room, but Shouta called him back, softly.

"Usaki…Don't forget your jacket." The blonde picked it up without a comment, and again tried to leave. "And," Shouta added, "I apologize."

All the teen did was to bite his lip and whisk out of the room.

Well, again, he was about to exit the apartment, but was interrupted once more—by a 5' 2" man entering the very door he was trying to get out of.

Another awkward silence.

Another gay baby, somewhere, in this world.

And another, even more awkward, sentence: "Shou-chan? What's a hobo doing here?"

:--:

_I bow to you, reader, as I am very pleased to see that you have completed this second chapter of mine, on the very first story, _Bunny, Bunny_. You make me feel terribly accomplished as you finish this piece, and I thank you for your tolerance and indulgence in this one particle among giants._

_Treat me well, and I will do my best to fufill your dreams._

_I realize that the ending of this chapter feels and reads awkwardly--at least, to me. I am still working on transitions, exits and endings and the like. _

_Again, an author's note will be attached to the beginning and end of each chapter, and for any suggestions or questions, please do not hesitate to review or PM O.Y.F.Inc. I will get to you ASAP._

_Thank you, again, for your indulgence._

:-**Kaida**-:

**PS: HALLOWEEN IS COMING UP. HAVE A SAFE WEEKEND, AND DON'T BE EATEN BY DRAGONS (Don't look at me like that!) OR GHOULS. But I have heard that leprechauns (Humans often give them the nickname of 'children') are rather forgiving**


	3. Chapter 3

_The name of this story is: _Bunny, Bunny

_Author: _Kaida

_Fandom: _DOLLS by Naked Ape

_Pairing: _Mikoshiba ShoutaxToudou Usaki; **given name last**

_An author's note will be attached to the beginning and end of each chapter. For any additional information, please do not hesitate to review or PM O.Y.F. I will respond ASAP._

_In advance, I apologize for the late update, and for the very dissatisfying length. But I have kept you long enough--  
_

_Let the madness begin._

:--:_  
_

**Chapter Three**

To say that Usaki was perfectly fine with this comment would be a blatant lie.

He was only slightly slighted, but offended all the same.

In fact, he might have resented it.

How did he look like a hobo?

As Usaki met Hasui Tamao's accusatory glare stolidly and evenly, he sighed inwardly. It wasn't that Hasui forgot about him. He had purposefully purged his existence from his memory.

"Shou-chan? Why—" The abrupt stop made the blonde snap out of his trance, and he followed Tamao's bewildered stare to Mikoshiba Shouta.

He was covering his mouth politely, a low chuckle at first, which quickly escaladed into a full-blown laugh.

The two helplessly confused bystanders glanced at each other, each as equally perplexed as the other. Prejudices temporarily forgotten in the strange event of the tall brunette laughing so randomly, Toudou Usaki and Hasui Tamao bounced ideas off each other, desperate to find the cause.

"High?" Tamao asked immediately.

"…Too much tea?" Usaki attempted.

"Nostalgia?"

"…Lack of sleep?"

"Extortionist?" At Usaki's strange look, he waved it off brusquely. "Never mind."

"…Overworked?" An accusatory glare was directed towards the still chuckling brunette, (who, every time he wiped his tears, started laughing anew due to Usaki's and Tamao's guessing game.)

"Pregnant?"

"Err…"

"Probably not. He couldn't get laid for his life." At that, Shouta abruptly stopped laughing and stood up to his full 5 foot 8 inches and towered over the pair.

"What was that, Tamao?" The brunette growled out (honestly, it was not an asking tone, and thus cannot be described as 'asked'.)

"Nothing, Shou-chan! It's good to see you normal again!" The police officer squeaked, rediscovering exactly how tall the captain was. He leaned towards Usaki and whispered in an over-exaggerated state whisper: "Did he do this a lot in your workplace? Laughing aloud randomly and all?"

Usaki sent another slightly strange look to Tamao, but shook his head tentatively. "Err…not especially…" Thinking back on a time when the captain had glanced at him over a cup of coffee and suddenly started to laugh (coffee splattered all over the couch), the blonde quickly retracted his answer. "Well, maybe a few times."

Mikoshiba Shouta crossed his arms with an exaggerated pout. "Ignore the victim, will you? Kenji, do you agree with Tamao—that I can't get laid?"

Why Usaki felt so bothered and uncomfortable was a mystery to him. "I…er…ah…I'm supposed to agree with someone?" He asked, feeling rather stupid.

Hasui barked a dry laugh. "Preferably. That would be nice."

After a few moments of internal struggle, Toudou Usaki finally came to a conclusion: "I agree with myself—that I take a noncommittal stance." Safe and neutral; that's how the world should work on matters like these.

Tamao pouted. "Oh, come on! Shou-chan, this hobo's no fun." Usaki counted to ten quietly in his head.

The captain sighed. "Come, Kenji, can't you be more fun? Oh, I know," he exclaimed, as if a sudden revelation had been revealed to him, "Why don't you stay for dinner? Despite contrary belief, I can cook." Mikoshiba hit Tamao over the head, due to his rapid, and mute, signals of 'death', 'doom' and 'disgusting'.

Usaki was just about to refuse the offer when he remembered his apartment that he currently roomed in—cold, empty and furnished with the barest of necessities. No clutter. Not home.

He supposed he could indulge himself every once in a while.

:--:

_I bow to you, reader, as I am very pleased to see that you have completed this third chapter of mine, on the very first story, _Bunny, Bunny_. You make me feel terribly accomplished as you finish this piece, and I thank you for your tolerance and indulgence in this one particle among giants._

_Treat me well, and I will do my best to fufill your dreams._

_Again, I know that this is a ridiculously short chapter. I apologize (if I could send out cookies or Usakis or Shoutas I would [but I rather need the latter of the two]) once more. However, I didn't want to keep anyone waiting, yes? Hopefully, the next chapter is not far off--thank you for your support.  
_

_Again, an author's note will be attached to the beginning and end of each chapter, and for any suggestions or questions, please do not hesitate to review or PM O.Y.F. I will get to you ASAP._

_Thank you, again, for your indulgence._

:-**Kaida**-:

**PS: Again, I apologize for the long wait. However, since Easter is coming up, I wish that you all have a safe and blessed Easter. God bless.  
**


	4. Chapter 4

_The name of this story is: _Bunny, Bunny

_Author: _Kaida

_Fandom: _DOLLS by Naked Ape

_Pairing: _Mikoshiba ShoutaxToudou Usaki; **given name last**

_An author's note will be attached to the beginning and end of each chapter. For any additional information, please do not hesitate to review or PM O.Y.F. I will respond ASAP._

_Be patient, as this irregular posting pattern is a horrid habit of mine. It is short, it is most likely unsatisfactory, but I'm doing what I like to do--write. Anyway...  
_

_Let the madness begin._

:--:_  
_

**Chapter Four**

How long had it been since he had sat with a person, let alone two of them? After Iori's accident, he had isolated himself to the point of extinction: _It has been reported that the last of the conscious breed of Toudous, Usaki, has been declared extinct. Whatever an Usaki was._

Dinner was simple in the apartment. Omurice with random leftovers thrown in. Tamao picked at his plate, his nose crinkling a little after the quiet, polite 'itadakimasu' thrown in by Usaki.

"What's _in_ here, Shou-chan?"

"Leftovers." A curt answer.

"I mean, is it _edible_?"

"Only if you make it out to be. I'm not wasteful with food unlike some people…"

"Stop telling off your elders!"

Here, Usaki couldn't help it—his eyes grew wide and he coughed, a mangled mix between a choking gasp and a snort. Tamao leaned over and gave him a gruff smack on the back.

"Hey, _hey_! I'm _two years older _than this brat! Don't tell me you thought he was older than _me_!" Usaki looked at his half finished omurice blankly. The inspector glared a while longer at the blonde before he threw up his hands and cried, "I can't even tell what you're thinking—or if you're thinking at all!"

The First Division Tokkei snapped up their heads so fast, they ran the risk of whiplash. Usaki was filled with a strange sense of déjà vu, despite the fact that this man was nothing like—

"Whoa, wait, idiot! Why're you putting so much ketchup on my food?" The brunette snapped, cutting into the blonde's thoughts.

"I was gonna draw a bunny!" The chihuahua cried.

Shouta smacked his head down on the table, shoulders quaking as he silently roared with laughter. His look said it all: _Usaki is an Usagi~ An Usagi in the First Division~ Seiju would die to hear this~ _

Usaki thought that dinner would never end.

~:--:~

Tamao leaned back on his chair, stretching and rubbing his stomach. He gave a contented sigh.

"That was good…"

"Where are your manners, Tamao?" Shouta scolded him lightly.

The small man scowled, but sat up and sighed: "Gochisosama."

Usaki looked on, amusedly, seeing that his captain never lost his maternal instincts, even at home. He set his chopsticks down, inclining his head and uttering the same thing as the small inspector.

Shouta sighed, rolling his eyes at Tamao. "You put too much ketchup on my omurice! It ruined the delicate flavors of—"

"Of what? Leftovers? I can cook much better than that."

"Well now! You're being rude, elder. Poor Usa—Kenji—is left sitting while we quarrel like boys!"

A thought hit the blonde, almost violently. _Iori_. He stood up.

"I…it's all right. I have to go now, anyway. But the food was great, really. Thanks, Mikoshiba-san, Tamao-san." Gathering his jacket and readjusting his glasses, he quickly made his way to the front door, slipping on his comfortably worn tennis shoes.

There was a rustle and when he turned his head to the side, his captain was standing behind him, face serious and completely devoid of the mirth that had surrounded his aura just moments before.

"What's wrong?" Shouta demanded. Usaki looked back down at his shoes, pretending to retie them.

"I forgot that I have a few errands to run; I've been out too long." Mindful of the policeman's presence in the next room, he shrugged. "I…need to see about those job offers."

Shouta still threw him an incredulous look, but shrugged. He turned, bellowed: "Tamao, I'll be walking Kenji down—don't burn the place down!" and opened the front door, ignoring the indignant squawk from his roommate. Usaki followed, trying not to think too much on what the captain was doing.

When Shouta stopped abruptly as they walked down the hall, the blonde tried his best not to trip, staring incredulously at the taller man.

"Is something the matter, Mik—"

"What's wrong, Usaki?" The blonde widened his eyes in slight disbelief at the casual use of his real name.

"…Nothing's wrong. It's no business of other people, anyway."

"I know that!" Usaki's head snapped up at the sudden explosion of noise. "But if it interferes with work—"

"Is it, now." The cold, chilly tone that the blonde's voice had acquired stopped the brunette. "I didn't realize."

"No, wait, I didn't mean it like—" At the sudden shock of seeing slate grey irises glistening with annoyance (_emotion_), the captain stopped once more.

"Nothing in my personal life shall hurt this operation anymore. You have my word. Now, if you will excuse me," throwing an impeccable salute, "I have a job to search for."

Shouta was surprised by the amount of ice dripping from the normally stoic teen. He had involuntarily taken a step back.

~:--:~

When Usaki had stepped into the hospital, the receptionist—although a different person—smiled at him in a business-like recognition. He had practically made this place his second home.

She, this time a middle aged woman, with a stern figure and expression, nodded to him curtly, smile gone and long forgotten. He stepped towards her.

"The doctor will have a word with you."

His heart sped up as she waved him to the room he knew so well; the room that he had waited in for hours at a time to hear exactly how his twin was faring.

"Toudou-san, how nice to see you again."

He nodded politely, mutely.

"Please, relax. Your brother is doing quite all right. However…"

Don't say it.

"I will ask you once more—it has been quite a long time since he's shown any sign of consciousness…"

Don't.

"Life support is expensive. You are the only living relative, I understand?"

Oh, the speech. Get it over with.

"There is always the option of taking him—"

"It's fine. I am well-provided for—he will be fine."

"You understand that the longer he stays in this state, the less likely—"

"I am well-provided for. He will be fine," Usaki repeated icily.

"Yes, of course. One more thing—I apologize," the doctor faltered for a split second before continuing. "Your information that you have given us. Your occupation leaves a little too much to the imagination—as you must know, there's a large possibility of legal matters being dragged into this if the money is not obtained legally—"

If tax-payers money is considered fraudulent or illegal, then sure. The blonde would be messing with the law. Himself.

"I assure you, doctor, this money is clean."

"I cannot know that unless you give me something more solid than a statement like that."

The blonde adjusted his glasses on his face deliberately; he sat up and looked at the other man in the eye. "It is the most solid answer that someone in your jurisdiction is allowed to receive. I am convinced that we have been over this before."

"I agree; you were about sixteen, if I recall correctly. I also never knew where you attended school."

"All you need to know is that I am financially able to take care of my brother. Good day."

For the sake of business courtesy and reputation, the doctor stood silently and bowed as the nineteen year-old swept out of the room.

:--:

_I bow to you, reader, as I am very pleased to see that you have completed this third chapter of mine, on the very first story, _Bunny, Bunny_. You make me feel terribly accomplished as you finish this piece, and I thank you for your tolerance and indulgence in this one particle among giants._

_Treat me well, and I will do my best to fufill your dreams._

_Again, I know that this is a ridiculously short chapter after a lengthy wait. As it is, I hope you find the writing satisfactory. Constructive reviews, flames, cookies, Usakis, Shoutas. Throw what you like at me--I won't break.  
_

_Again, an author's note will be attached to the beginning and end of each chapter, and for any suggestions or questions, please do not hesitate to review or PM O.Y.F. I will get to you ASAP._

_Thank you, again, for your indulgence._

:-**Kaida**-:


	5. Chapter 5

_The name of this story is: _Bunny, Bunny

_Author: _Kaida

_Fandom: _DOLLS by Naked Ape

_Pairing: _Mikoshiba ShoutaxToudou Usaki; **given name last**

_An author's note will be attached to the beginning and end of each chapter. For any additional information, please do not hesitate to review or PM O.Y.F. I will respond ASAP._

_Here's to hoping that this chapter is satisfactory.  
_

_Let the madness begin._

_-Edit- This has recently come to my attention: In the very first few lines of this chapter, there is a grievous typo that is not allowing me to fix. "'sbreath" is, in fact, supposed to say: __to end another life to stop another person's breath_. _Of course, when I put this phrase in without any spaces between these words, has simply deleted the rest of it and left it as ''sbreath''. I apologize for the inconvenience. If any other confusion or errors come to your attention, please notify my immediately. I don't bite._

_NOW is the time for the madness to begin.  
_

~:--:~_  
_

**Chapter Five**

Never had he felt this conflicted. Never had he been more tempted to just—

But it wasn't his place to take the one life he lived to save. This was the only life he could save—he had failed so many other times…

Usaki stepped onto the last bus for the night, glancing at his watch wearily. 11:30.

The vehicle swayed gently, the few passengers nodding off or looking listlessly out of windows. Although there were plenty of seats open, the blonde opted to stand.

Although it was almost like every other week, where the doctor (who was convinced that Usaki was forced to be part of some drug circle since he couldn't possibly provide for his brother through some other means) tried his professional best to persuade the blonde _'sbreath_,, where he would board the last bus to his dreary apartment, where he would stay up another near-sleepless night…

Memories of few hours previous haunted him. He had forgotten how warm homemade food could be, how gratifying it was to just sit, eat and listen to other people and their warm bantering and chatter. It was amazing how he could simply immerse himself in others company and just forget.

Another thing. His job. The doctor would not take his answer of "well-provided for" for much longer. But how could you tell someone that you worked for a secret execution's service? The service itself was not secret. Just the people operating within it. No ordinary citizen was allowed to see the Tokkei—the _Tokubetsu Shikeishikkou Keimukan Butai_—the Official Unit for Punishment and Special Executions. Whatever you wanted to call it, no one liked the Tokkei. Many thought that these 'policemen' were unethical, cold-blooded killers…Dolls.

Even the public police force despised them.

A group had risen against them—the Doll Hunters…Terrorists, with their only goal being to eliminate the Dolls. Their methods of execution were just as brutal, if not worse than, the Tokkei.

It was ironic. His doctor was accusing him of gleaning money illegally, when it was obtained very, very legally. Taxpayers. Maybe that's why the other police departments disliked them; their pay was cut to accommodate the creation of the Tokkei.

The road and lights whirled by as the bus rocked monotonously to some mute beat.

Usaki leaned against the window carefully, placing a hand gently on the pole that was in front of him for mental security.

The bus stopped, not his stop, and Usaki furrowed his eyebrows lightly as a rumpled man boarded the vehicle, reeking of booze and vomit. His eyes were bloodshot.

The blonde situated himself into a comfortable, defensive stance, watching the drunk wearily. Then the man stood and stumbled towards Usaki.

Doing his best to stand still and ignore the drunk, Usaki shuffled a little to the side, in order to make room. It quickly backfired.

The drunk slung himself over the blonde and was muttering mad little spurts of words and sweet, cajoling tunes as the bus rocked back and forth.

"You…remind me of my—errr….Ohh, dead. Yea, dead…"

Usaki shifted uncomfortably, trying to inch out of the death grip the man had on his shoulder. After a long pause, the man continued.

"Wha? Oh, dead! Dead…dead. Wife. Yeaa…" The blonde's expression quickly grew stormy—he pushed the man away brusquely.

"Sir, with all due respect, you're _drunk_." His sharp voice made the bus driver glance at his passengers through the mirror. Once he had determined that no one was being slaughtered, the driver stared dully once more towards the street.

"Tha—always tell me tha…" A sobbing laugh, an arm slung back over the teen's shoulder. "Always drunk, oh, high, or flying or something…"

"Next stop…" The bus driver's bored voice echoed through the vehicle hollowly. As soon as the bus stopped, the driver nodded to Usaki. "You mind taking him, too?" He motioned to the obviously inebriated man, still giggling and crying on the poor blonde's shoulder. "I don't want vomit in here."

"Of course." Usaki nodded politely to the grateful smile of the bus driver, paid his fare and dragged the dead weight of a man to the bus stop bench. He slapped the offending limbs off of him, prying the drunkard off of him like you would pry a piece of goo off the wall—carefully, slowly, and with something sharp. Just without the sharp part.

"Dun leaaa—me…so many people…gone! Again, again…" The blonde covered his ears, walked two blocks down and walked into a tall, utilitarian building, strictly for housing and nothing else.

So many people. Gone. Again.

And again.

He opened the door to the apartment and felt very dizzy, staring at the white-washed plaster walls with white floors, white tiles, white appliances.

Black tea. It ends the monotony.

The thick, bitter caffeine flowed through his veins like a drug, and time passed by slowly as the blonde sat listlessly at the kitchen table, sleepless.

How he hated the taste of black tea.

~:--:~

It wasn't often that Shouta would stay up during the night due to a _bad feeling_. He lived with _bad feelings _all the time in his line of work. But ever since the blonde had strode away from him that night, Shouta couldn't help but feel guilty.

Especially since he had made the blonde's eyes flash in a sort of pained fury—indignant, callous but pure with all its meaning. He had been angry in the stead of his comatose brother.

The fact that Shouta had made Usaki indignant was enough to make him lose sleep over it. He should have known better than to say something that mixed private life with the professional world to the icy blonde.

The clock on the wall chimed gently as it hit 1:00 AM—the clock was five minutes early.

Tamao was snug in his bed; his door was open, and the taller brunette could hear snores coming from the room. Shouta was sitting at the table, sleep evading him.

He tried drinking some of that 'sleepy-time herbal tea' Tamao had bought for him on nights like this. Sure enough, his eyelids began to droop, and he dragged himself to his own bed.

How he hated the smell of peppermint.

~:--:~

In the office, the atmosphere was tense. Seiju was swimming in the nervous energy, caught in the middle of some silent Cold War between the blonde and brunette.

"Ehm…" The long-haired Tokkei tried. "Um, Shouta-kun! Did you sleep well last night?"

The sharp look he received as an answer wasn't very comforting. "Er, what about…what did you have for dinner last night? It's a Brain Age question, if I'm correct—something about memory, or something?"

"Omurice," Usaki replied for the captain, voice bland as always.

"Oh, er, why do you know—You know, never mind. I probably shouldn't ask, hmm, Shouta-kun!" The brunette was glaring daggers into space. It would be fatal to anyone who walked in his line of sight.

The poor, long-haired man's perplexity only grew as Usaki bowed in apology and followed the silent brunette in near-perfect unison.

As Usaki opened the door to the office of Mikami Tatsuto, the Department Head, letting in a stormy Shouta and a fussy Seiju, the Third Brigade Captain slipped in as well.

Mikami sat up. "Kamijou. Is there something you need?"

Usaki watched the slightly shorter man approach his captain. He held in his hand what seemed to be a piece of paper. The man bowed curtly to the Department Head as Usaki closed the door behind him. The blonde settled into an attentive stance.

Kamijou's two-toned eyes flashed. With what, Usaki couldn't tell—even at the top of his class, his weakness had always been reading other people's emotions as they passed across their face.

"This is apparently for a certain Kenji, _Captain_," the title was spat out in the sweetest, most endearing way possible, "Mikoshiba. A small inspector sent it to the address you provided as your office address."

Usaki flinched. Not only did he dislike the alias that was essentially forced upon him (after all, wherever his captain was concerned, the blonde had no say) but to be sent something by the little Chihuahua?

A hate letter, perhaps, or a nuclear explosion just waiting to disintegrate his face. The paper was pushed into his palm, the two-toned eyes staring at him sweetly.

The Department Head nodded curtly, eyes flashing with slight annoyance at the interruption for a seemingly mundane thing. "Thank you, Kamijou—you may go."

The man with two colored eyes inclined his head politely and craned his neck ever so slightly towards the First Brigade, his peering eyes catching Usaki's disinterested ones with a smirk.

The door closed behind him quietly.

~:--:~

The meeting was held—a killer had emerged with absolutely no fingerprints.

The murders were terrifyingly gruesome, but almost obsessively clean. No evidence could be gathered—it had either been completely destroyed, or the blood had just randomly burst out of the body. No potential murder weapons were even in the room—no residue left from any cleaning agents, not even _imprints_.

But the murders—three of them—could have only been done in close contact with the victims. The slashes and _tears_ in the body were particularly vicious. It couldn't have been caused by a gun—they had even inspected the buildings opposite of the murders. No residue, no imprints.

The bodies would have been unidentifiable if the murders had taken place outside of their own home.

All of the murders were in the heart of the city. But as each body as discovered—usually by an unfortunate family member—the killings became increasingly more brutal…and even cleaner, if that were even possible.

"I would assume that our suspect suffers from a sort of psychological disorder?" The (still grumpy) brunette had asked.

"They have been profiled as such. Perhaps recently taken off medication, out of an asylum." The Head shook his head. "Not that asylums help, even nowadays."

"What could possibly drive someone to kill someone like this?" Seiju murmured. "Were there any signs of rape?" Even though the bodies consisted of two men and one woman…

Mikami frowned. "Nothing."

"Perhaps this…person…knew the victims?" Seiju continued.

"We can't know that. The victims have nothing in common—age, occupation, sex, hobbies, friends. There is absolutely nothing that connects them to one another." The Head sighed loudly, burying his face in his hands. "Our intelligence group has been working their asses off just trying to figure out how the victims and the killer could have possibly met. Or if there is even a killer."

Shouta frowned. "So, you're sending us out for field work."

Mikami nodded. "That's your assignment. Back to recon for you guys."

A simultaneous salute, and the meeting was over.

~:--:~

The day was far from over. It was only 0900—work, on a good day, did not end until 1900.

Seiju was worrying his gloves, walking behind the other two silent members of the brigade. You couldn't even cut the tension with a knife—you'd have to take a sledgehammer to it.

The long-haired man cleared his throat hesitantly as they neared the side exit of the building. "Shouta-kun…" A slight turn of the brunette's head indicated that he was listening. "Where are we going?"

If Mikoshiba were to be perfectly honest with himself, he didn't know where they were going. But he wasn't honest with himself. "Well, reconnaissance," the taller man stated, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"The first scene of murder," Usaki suggested gently, knowing full well that the captain had no idea.

Seiju sighed, releasing a breath he wasn't aware that he had been holding. The tension was now down to a butter knife level.

~:--:~

_I bow to you, reader, as I am very pleased to see that you have completed this third chapter of mine, on the very first story, _Bunny, Bunny_. You make me feel terribly accomplished as you finish this piece, and I thank you for your tolerance and indulgence in this one particle among giants._

_Treat me well, and I will do my best to fufill your dreams._

_And this is why holidays are when authors and writers celebrate. And, hopefully, readers. Reviews, flames, constructive criticism, requests--all are welcome. After all, this is hopefully your story, right?_

_Again, an author's note will be attached to the beginning and end of each chapter, and for any suggestions or questions, please do not hesitate to review or PM O.Y.F. I will get to you ASAP._

_Thank you, again, for your indulgence._

:-**Kaida**-:


	6. Chapter 6

_**Dear Readers:**_

_**I apologize for the lengthy amount of time between updates. It was a busy quarter, and luckily, I survived. **_

_**I can't guarantee that I will update regularly, but I can try. **_

_**Obviously, contact O.Y.F. if you have any questions, comments or suggestions! We will be happy to receive them, and hopefully, will reply ASAP.**_

_**Well. Excuse this pointless rambling, and please, **_**let the madness begin.**

**~:--:~  
**

**Chapter Six**

The scene was, as expected, still quarantined from the public eye. After all, no one was on the waiting list for the condo in the current economy.

Usaki treaded cautiously, pulling his mask down as soon as the door was properly blockaded. The smell of stagnant blood filled his nose, but he breathed easily. Seiju gagged, placing his hand delicately over his nose.

"There was no struggle," Seiju noted, looking at the vases and silverware so neatly lined up.

Silverware?

Mikoshiba frowned. "Dinner?" He counted the sets. "For two. Perhaps the murderer was a lover?" All three of the First Brigade took note of the pot with the burned contents—an interrupted recipe. Ashen meat sat at the bottom of the pot.

"With all due respect," Usaki began, "is a woman capable of such violence?" He had remembered the pictures of the first male victim, the owner of this condo—single, young and fairly attractive. In theory. Looking at his body postmortem, post-murder—it was rendered almost unrecognizable due to the slashes and gashes that violently peppered the body. Could the fairer race of the world really be expected to be able to do something like that?

"Who says that lovers must be heterosexual?" The captain countered. "And, even though I doubt it, it could have been a friend. As I said, though, everything here indicates 'lovers'."

"Why's that, Shouta-kun?" Seiju asked, stepping out of the dining room and into the bathroom. That room, too, was clean. The smell of blood, however, was even stronger.

"This is a generalization," he began with a note of irony (for their job was based on generalizations), "but I don't believe that in a relationship between a man and a woman that the man would invite the woman over to cook for her." He shrugged. "It is more common nowadays, sure, but I don't think this man was the masculine chef for a girlfriend. His body was found in the bedroom…on the bed. A vulnerable position." The tall brunette glanced at Usaki as the blonde left the room. "Like he was waiting for something." Usaki coughed politely into his sleeve, looking vaguely uncomfortable as he glanced at the pottery and figurines—and the severe lack of pictures in the house.

"Shouta-kun! Usaki-kun!" Seiju's voice carried through the condo clearly, his voice ending with a slight question. "I think I might have found something."

When the other two brigade members stepped into the bathroom, they saw Seiju pointing to the drain, where a small chunk of flesh clung onto the edge.

"How did they miss this?" Mikoshiba asked incredulously. "They need to go back to school."

"In any case, we found something. Perhaps we should send this to the lab?"

The brunette nodded, wrinkled his nose. "Yea, and have them pull up the pipes, too. It smells like something's definitely rotting down there."

~:--:~

The investigation began after the pipes had been pulled up; they were clotted with blood and other unmentionables. It was sent to the lab for analysis, and the First Brigade returned to the building to regroup.

They stood in front of Mikami, reporting the things they had found. They were told to change back into civilian dress and wait for further orders. There was a high possibility that they would have to gather information, under the guise of normal citizens.

It was strange, how the building of the Tokkei never had spare newspapers lying about.

In the locker room, Seiju and Mikoshiba stayed in front of their lockers, but Usaki gathered his clothes and headed towards the stall.

The captain looked at the vice captain, and each, in turn, looked at the stall quizzically. The locker room wasn't occupied, besides the three of them.

"Usaki-kun? Are you all right?" Seiju asked.

"I'm fine," came the prompt, and curt, answer.

The long-haired man frowned thoughtfully—he knew how competitive new recruits of the Tokkei could get. They could get downright—dare he say it—_catty_. Petty arguments, a fierce competitive pressure everywhere one walked…The admissions process either formed fierce allies or spiteful enemies. However, occasionally, one student is singled out from the rest, a clearly marked purple-and-yellow-polka-dotted-green-striped sheep, and all students would unite in bullying that single lamb—verbally, physically and mentally. Knowing how difficult the blonde could be to understand, Seiju figured he must have been subject to this sort of treatment for a long time in the training facility.

Even in the locker room.

"If you say so…" Seiju glanced at the captain, whose face was drawn and guarded, probably thinking what the long-haired man was. Although, that particularly disgruntled look on the captain's face might have had something to do with the 'omurice' and 'not enough sleep'. "Hey, Shouta-kun. Shouldn't you get some sleep?"

"Not if it's peppermint induced, no," Mikoshiba answered, a little snappily. Usaki stepped out, his uniform neatly folded and gun on top.

"Excuse me," he said politely, pushing past the two other men to get to his locker. He placed his uniform in its proper slot, opened the safe inside the locker and placed his gun there, as well as his katana. His hand lingered on the hilt as he placed it in the safe; it didn't feel right to just leave the sword behind. The weight of it certainly felt comforting on his hip.

"Usaki-kun, why don't you have anything on your locker?" Seiju asked, staring at the blank insides of the metal door. Both the captain and vice captain startled as they were answered by the sharp _clang! _of metal as the blonde nearly slammed the door shut. His lips were drawn thin, his face more strained than usual, the lock snapping crisply as he slapped it into place.

"…It has—"

"—nothing to do with work," Mikoshiba finished. "We know that, Usagi. And," he started again, interrupting an indignant sound from the blond, "we also know that you're not a bunny. But this is to kill time. After all, everyone's busy—but us."

"So you want to interrogate me about my personal life for entertainment?" Usaki's eyes hardened once more.

"Please, no, Usaki-kun! We're just saying, your locker looks plain—er, how about this," Seiju scratched the back of his head, anxious to keep the tension low between the two. "It's…a discussion amongst friends, co-workers. Okay? So, I'll start. What…is your favorite color?" He tilted his head to the side, gave the sweetest, most disarming smile he could muster in such a situation, and waited.

And waited. Seiju felt the captain take a seat next to him. His smile was beginning to get strained.

"How about, you answer that question first," Mikoshiba said with a wry grin. "You asked it, anyway. The most cliché question on this earth."

Usaki had taken a seat as well, the pressure lowering a few notches. "Uhm, well…" Seiju began. "I've always appreciated white…" Neither senior member noticed that Usaki's expression had gone a little more than sour, a little more than irritated.

"That isn't a color!" Protested Mikoshiba abruptly. "That's really the absence of color."

"It counts!" Seiju told him petulantly. "To me, it's almost like all the colors are there, but you just can't see them. Since I can't ever make up my mind, and I don't think many people would count 'clear' as a color, I say white."

"I don't believe white's a color, either," snorted the brunette. "But, as they say, to each his own. But don't you, of all people, absolutely hate it when you find white hairs?"

The long haired man huffed, turning away as he began to unbutton his Tokkei uniform. "White as a color, and white _hair_…very different."

"…I hate white."

It was a quiet proclamation, but both men had heard it all the same—Seiju and Mikoshiba whipped their heads around and faced the blonde.

"Is…that so, Usaki-kun? I'm sorry, I didn't realize—" Seiju stopped abruptly as a hand waved itself leisurely in his face, cutting him off. He attempted to muster a glare at the captain, but when he saw a look of intense concentration on Shouta's face, Seiju looked away and continued to undress himself.

Unexpectedly, the blonde began talking once more.

"I also hate the smell of disinfectant and alcohol based products. Or artificial smells."

The captain frowned.

"I can't stand bitter tea. But its color is much more welcoming than white." The slate-grey eyes stared dully past the two men, staring at the dark contrast of lockers and concrete. "Much more real."

A thick silence pervaded the locker room, broken only by Seiju's combination lock slipping smoothly into place with a sudden _click!_

When it was evident that the blonde was done speaking, Mikoshiba grinned wryly. "Is that all you can say, Usagi—what you hate?"

"It is a lot less personal than saying what you love," came the abrupt answer.

The brunette shook his head, glancing at Seiju, who had changed his clothes by then. "But it's so much more liberating to say what you enjoy."

The grey eyes grew stormy, glancing off to the side. "There is nothing that I can allow myself to enjoy now." He looked as if he were going to say something else, but stopped in the middle and shook his head.

A stifling silence, more stifling than the humid, muggy heat of the city in the midst of summer, settled over the First Brigade.

"Usaki-kun, if you don't like bitter tea, do you like sweet tea?"

Seiju and Mikoshiba watched as their junior hesitated, as he turned his head to the side once more, as he shook his head gently. "I don't dislike it."

~:--:~

Toudou Usaki was standing stiffly in the lounge against the wall, staring blankly at his cell phone; of which had only two numbers on it—the hospital's, and the main Tokkei office number. He had never bothered to get the captain or vice captain's numbers—it was unnecessary.

The blonde took no notice as the door opened gently, letting in a taller, brown-headed figure.

"Usagi, ever got a chance to see what that roommate of mine wanted?"

The blonde started—he had entirely forgotten that the lounge was open to essentially anyone who was part of the Tokkei, including the captain.

And the fact that the brunette had gone out of his way just to talk about something _other _than work—_again_—without Seiju supervising the hyper-tense atmosphere…The blonde wasn't sure if he was supposed to be touched at that point or not.

"No…I had completely forgotten about it, really." He reached into his jeans pocket when a shrill ringing of a cell phone cut the silence. Usaki twitched, hand clutching instinctively around his _painfully silent _phone.

"Sorry, sorry. My bad," Shouta put a hand up in apology, fishing around in his pockets for the phone. "I forgot I turned it up in the locker room." Finding it, he glanced at the caller ID; Usaki noted that his face fell very quickly. He could only assume that it was the Inspector that it was calling to make the captain react like that. It seemed that the little inspector was the only one who could make the captain smile from actual happiness. Even Seiju had a hard time coaxing a truly joyful smile from the captain.

Not that being a part of Tokkei was a cause for celebration.

As the brunette negotiated with the Chihuahua about who-knows-what, Usaki reached once more into his pocket and withdrew the envelope that Kamijou had so kindly delivered. The handwriting was dubious; surely a personality like the Inspector's wouldn't have such neat, scripted handwriting?

The address was doubtful, too. After all, who wrote the return address of a letter to the police station?

When Usaki pulled out the paper, he flinched.

ISN'T OMURICE TASTY IN COMPARISON TO BLACK TEA?

He made a 'tsk'ing sound with his tongue, shoving the paper back into this pocket, irritated. It was one of the most uncreative messages that could have been in the letter. All of the apprehension for nothing. Even he, the most uncreative and uninspired teen on the earth, recognized the blatantly unoriginal nature of the letter. After all, anyone could have gone to the Tokkei's Room of Eyes and seen that—

A troubling thought. Who would bother to watch him specifically, anyway? And under Tamao's name—a man who would be the least-likely to gain access to the Room? Although the contract that everyone had signed stated that: "…it is understood that it is of the utmost importance and necessity that a camera be installed in every living quarters of every single member in interest of…" there was no one that came to mind who would take the time to, quite frankly, _stalk _him using the cameras. If he remembered correctly, that area was off limits even to the Tokkei, unless they had special permission.

A click of a phone, the captain sighed. "Sorry, Usaki. He just kept talking. Something about his teacups. Again. I didn't ask him about the letter, though." The blonde nodded, still scrutinizing the piece of paper he held. Mikoshiba quickly forced him to relinquish his hold on it as the brunette fairly snatched it out of his fingers.

"Honestly? This is the best they could come up with? I mean, it's common sense." The brunette chuckled quietly, crumpling the paper and tossing it up and down, catching and releasing the ball. "This isn't even an attempt at Tamao's handwriting. Maybe it's some messed up form of a love letter."

The blonde raised an eyebrow carefully, utterly skeptical at the thought and not finding it very humorous. He shook his head discreetly as the trash can shook with the impact of the new addition of the paper ball. What Usaki didn't notice was the troubled look that had overshadowed the taller man's eyes and the utter incredulity lurking within them.

The door signaled the entrance of Shikibu Seiju.

"Shouta-kun, Usaki-kun! Obento! Lunchtime!" In the perky, long-haired man's hands were several lunchboxes, all of which were packed to the brim in neat, colorful and, ultimately, _cute_ designs.

It never ceased to amaze the other two men that _What-the-heck-he-made-this-from-scratch-and-he-enjoys-doing-it_.

Shouta opened the box he was given, grinned, and happily proclaimed: Itadakimasu! Because, although Seiju's hobby might be considered strange for a man, it was tasty—and well worth eating.

Usaki was staring at his food—it seemed as if he couldn't bring himself to pick up the chopsticks.

"What's up?" The brunette asked, looking over and staring at the lunchbox as well.

Seiju had carefully handcrafted a bunny with glasses out of rice and seaweed, with bean sprouts and cold noodles—the rest of the vegetables and meat were the background. Usaki stared at his food, which stared back at him, creating a perfect mirror of incredulity.

Shouta was bent over double, shoulders shaking as he laughed.

~:--:~

_An author's note will be attatched to the beginning and end of each chapter, and for any suggestions or questions, please do not hesitate to review or PM O.Y.. I will get to you ASAP._

_Thank you, again, for your indulgence._

:-**Kaida**-:


	7. Chapter 7

_**Dear Readers:**_

_**I apologize for the lengthy amount of time between updates. To be honest, I'm just lazy. I hope that this length, and plot, and humor, or whatever you like! is amusing and/or pleasing to you readers.  
**_

_**I can't guarantee that I will update regularly, but I can try. **_

_**Obviously, contact O.Y.F. if you have any questions, comments or suggestions! We will be happy to receive them, and hopefully, will reply ASAP.**_

_**Well. Excuse this pointless rambling, and please, **_**let the madness begin.**

**~:-:~**

**Chapter Seven**

Kamijou Riku. He was not someone to be reckoned with; although small, he could fell many men twice his size. They did not appoint him as the captain of the Third Brigade for nothing. However, not many people who worked closely alongside this man could stand him. He would simply say something, and one immediately knew that it was the most sarcastic, negative complimentary-insult that would ever be uttered to their face. When Kamijou smiled at you, he would do so in the most demeaning way possible. His eerie green cat-eye and his bright, cerulean left eye dissuaded many from talking to him, simply because it made his appearance frightening. And, despite the modern beliefs and times, despite the fact that the whole of Japan was in the quaternary sector of development and thus, very logically minded, ingrained within everyone's subconscious was the thought that 'this-man-is-cursed'.

Aizawa Rami. As captain of the Second Brigade, the one comprised solely of women, her attitude was as blunt as a wooden mallet to your face. Her striking looks and professionalism made her a favorite among the higher-ups, and the younger trainees secretly (mind you, _secretly_) had pictures of her tucked into their wallets. Living by rules and regulations, Aizawa was raised as a proper and strong-willed woman; her stubbornness was ingrained in her blood, while her good looks further propelled the general consensus that she was near perfect—as long as you were in her good favor.

Aizawa and Kamijou, alike in nearly every way—successful, charming, and bright in the most incongruent way possible; these two opposites who hated each other for merely existing—were unfortunately placed on investigation duty… out of uniform. Together.

Out of work, Rami was meticulously dressed, a woman of high standing and good breeding. She was in heels and a pencil skirt, as well as her favorite pea coat: a fashionable article and an in-season grey. Her beret was set carefully on top of her curls at a fashionably jaunty angle.

Riku, also, was carefully dressed, although approachably. A calculated casual look, he was in a clean—scrupulously clean—track jacket and slim, cautiously distressed jeans. He had settled his beanie onto his head, taking care not to muss his hair, smirking gently at an insignificant spot behind Aizawa.

After a few moments of sitting at the same table at the same café and staring at the same spot behind each others' heads, Kamijou's eyes flickered over Aizawa's coat—and he smirked.

"The only way I can describe that wonderful jacket is like this: It is like uncolored and untreated silly putty—an unspeakably wretched color, utterly useless and possessing a rancid odor." He smiled sweetly as her fair face grew scarlet. "It suits you perfectly."

Patrons' heads jerked up as a sharp clatter sounded through the café; china teetered precariously on the edge of the cheap cotton lace tablecloth of the captains' table.

"I've had _quite _enough of your stupid words and sweet smiles! You… You're a living hypocrite!" Aizawa's blonde curls bounced furiously over her shoulders as she leaned over the table, jabbing her finger into the other captain's chest. Her blue eyes flashed with rage and annoyance. "We have a miss—"

"Dear, please, you're making a scene," Kamijou intercepted smoothly. To Aizawa's utmost horror and revulsion, his warm, calloused hand settled gently on her cheek. "You must be tired," he continued soothingly, crooning. "I think you're overworked. Why don't we head back? Get some rest?" The hand traveled to her elbow, leading her shell-shocked brain no choice but to follow clumsily after him. Sighs were heard throughout the café at this perfect gentleman; glares were directed to boyfriends who should "watch-and-learn-and-can't-you-act-more-like-him?"

Kamijou still smiled sweetly, whispering to her as they walked out of the building: "Would you keep your big mouth shut for once? You basically blew our cover, if our target was here. And now we have to go back."

"Shut up!" The woman's voice quickly rose once more. "You shouldn't be talking about this in public!"  
"I could say the same, _dear_," Kamijou said, just as sweet as all his previous words, but conveying much more malice…if the grip on her elbow was anything to go by. "And please, go easier on the make-up. I can feel the grime on my fingers even now."

~:-:~

Usaki glanced to his left, then his right.

Captain Mikoshiba Shouta and Vice-Captain Shikibu Seiju glared at everything and anything but each other.

It was a rare right, and the blonde had no idea how it had begun. He supposed that even Seiju, with his limitless patience, ran out of kindness sometimes.

It was apparent that when Seiju bottled up his annoyance over a long period of time, it explodes. Violently.

Usaki, with his impervious barrier of unattatchment, was not caught up in the blast, but Shouta had tried calming the long-haired man down—like stopping an exploding volcano with a single ice cube.

All the blonde knew was that Shouta had said something that struck a nerve in the long-haired man.

"You're overreacting, Seiju," the captain said suddenly, voice strangely meek.

"Oh, enough of this!" The vice-captain threw his hands up into the air, a sign of utter exasperation. "I don't care what I am, but honestly! You couldn't have been less sensitive!"

"I didn't mean anything by what I said—" Shouta began.

"Then why'd you say it?" Snapped Seiju. "You could have easily _not_ said what you did say!"

"…What the hell did I say, anyway?"

"Ugh! You men," was all the furious male could manage before crossing his arms and glaring at the opposite wall of the break room.

No matter how oblivious he was, Usaki could not shake the oddness of the accusation.

"I don't think you can really—"

"Don't you start again! I can say what I like!"

"But we're _all_ men—"

"You didn't even let me finish what I was going to say! So it came out weird!"

"You _stopped _talking after making that strange comment!"

"You kept on talking, and I completely—"

"Ah, Captain, Vice-Captain…" Muttered the blonde who had kept silent thus far. Both men whirled on him, and he almost flinched. Almost.

"What do you need, Usaki-kun?" Seiju asked sweetly. The captain rolled his eyes.

"You are both on my lap. Could you, by any chance, get off?" Usaki inquired formally, suffocated between the two men who were using his legs as debate podiums. They throbbed dully from the random punches his seniors had dealt in order to punctuate their statements.

Shouta and Seiju shot to the far ends of the couch (when had they been sitting on the same couch, anyway?) and glared at one another.

"It's your fault that Usaki-kun got hurt!"

"Don't start this again! It was your fault anyway!"

"Ah, Captain, Vice-Captain…" Muttered the blonde once more. The quickly escalating argument faded as the two older brigade members turned to the youngest yet again. "You are both at fault," he deadpanned, standing up and clearing the coffee table of the partially finished obento boxes. "And you haven't finished your lunch," Usaki stated factually, glancing at his captain. He placed the box and the chopsticks into the brunette's hands and continued to clear the table.

Shouta and Seiju stared at the quietly active teen in dawdling increments of realization.

Toudou Usaki had finally grown sick of their bickering. And this was his way of making his displeasure known.

For some strange reason, it greatly amused both of the senior members. Shouta picked up his chopsticks and began to eat. Seiju touched his fingers briefly to his chest ("I'm sorry") and smiled when the brunette reciprocated the action.

When Seiju began to help the blonde clear the table, however, Usaki shook his head firmly and turned to his colleagues expectantly.

Expectant for what?

Shouta blinked slowly, then sighed, his face turning slightly pink. "Ah. It was nothing. Quite a stupid thing."

"Well, he told me that the broccoli was a little overcooked…" Seiju trailed off. After all, that was really all there was to it.

They flinched at the unimpressed expression on the blonde's features.

"That's it?" Spoken rather testily, especially for the blonde.

"That…was it," Seiju said, realizing just how mundane the argument was.

"I see." Short. Cold. Very official. Very formal. 'I see'. The most frightening phrase, the phrase containing the most promise of pain that the captains had ever experienced from the blonde.

Another expectant look, this time directed at the brunette.

Shouta glanced at his mostly empty box, picked up the chopsticks and began to eat once more. He grimaced in Seiju's direction under the piercing stare of those blue-gray eyes of the nineteen year-old.

"They're not overcooked anymore, Seiju."

~:-:~

Shouta had finally finished his obento under the watchful eyes of his comrades. Usaki had taken it upon himself to clean up, even though Seiju had insisted to help.

The First Division was truly on hold; waiting for lab results, waiting for the call to go into the normal world and blend in. There was absolutely nothing to do. The blonde decided to see if anything else had called on his cell.

No hospital, no junk mail, no telemarketers. No missed calls.

Sometimes, Usaki wondered what it was like to be not invisible.

He made his way to his desk, rifling through random papers that had been placed on its surface in the past twenty-three and a half hours.

As Usaki sifted through his pile of papers, he found a folder lying innocently wedged between papers; he stared at it like you would a wild animal.

Snatching it and tucking it underneath his leather jacket, he placed the rest of the papers in the recycling bin and headed to the bathroom for privacy.

The paper inside the folder was folded neatly into three sections lengthwise; an uncommon way to fold a paper, making the shorter side a third of its original size. The paper was all perfect lines and clean edges. It unfolded uneasily, and Usaki couldn't help but note that these perfect lines were creased only once with a perfect nail; there was no reopening the paper when it had been folded.

_You know, it'd be so easy to just **do without** that doctor._

A wave of nausea swept over the teenager. He gasped for the air that couldn't reach his lungs, and he gripped the edge of the sink desperately. Tempted to do exactly as Shouta had done—crumple it and throw it in the trash—Usaki found another slip of paper in the folder, folded into perfect, lengthwise thirds and creased only once.

_ Please, don't throw me away anymore. I'm only here to help you._

_ I'm only trying to make your desires known to your own, conscious, self._

Doing his best to keep a cold, impassive façade fixated to his face, the blonde placed the contents back in the folder, placed the folder back under his jacket, and headed to the break room once more. He pulled a single surgical glove out of his jeans pocket and discreetly slipped it on his hand. Suddenly, nothing could be trusted. And it was standard procedure anyway.

Usaki swept his hand through the trash bin. The captain and vice-captain had left at the same time he did, and they had only left ten minutes ago.

The paper that the captain had thrown away was gone. There was no doubt in the blonde's mind that the person was part of the Tokkei now. The staff wouldn't dare rifle through the trash of the Tokkei. They would be discharged immediately, maybe even sent overseas if the information was sensitive enough, and if the Tokkei were stupid enough not to shred the documents. Prison was too crowded, and they weren't eligible for execution.

Knowing that, no one would want to trade the relatively safe and secure job of working in the Tokkei for a personal tidbit from the Tokkei.

"Toudou-san?"

The blonde whirled violently, eyes narrowed and uneasy. He almost collided with the smaller, calmer man with two different colored eyes—Kamijou.

"Kamijou-sempai," he said easily, the professional face slipping back into place.

The other man was still in his street clothes; meticulous jeans and hair, with the perfect beanie and track jacket. Kamijou pretended to look abashed, pulling on his jacket and looking up at the teen through lidded eyes and thick lashes.

"Were you, by any chance, _Usaki-kun_," the other blonde purred, pacing quietly around the nineteen year-old. He was like a cat staking out its meal, fully in control and patiently waiting for its victim to make a single wrong move. "_Usaki-kun_, were you looking through the trash? You realize what trouble you could get into for doing such a thing. Ah, but," he said with a slight pout, "since you're in the First Brigade, you could get away with such things." The door of the break room flew open and hit the wall, forcing both Tokkei to look up.

"Kamijou," interrupted a darker voice. As Mikoshiba stepped into the room, Kamijou did not look surprised, and seemed to have even expected it.

"Ah, beloved captain of the Tokkei! So glad to see you!"

"What are you talking to Usaki about?"

"I'm sure you heard it all. Temper, temper! And here I thought that sifting through trash was bad—and here you are, the Captain of all the Tokkei, eavesdropping o little old me! Oh, but my last statement was wrong. The First Brigade—and it's captain— can get away with _everything_. Even murdering their captain, even killing their companion, even—"

"You _bastard_—"

"Kamijou-sempai, please," Usaki intervened swiftly. "I won't go through the trash again. I just misplaced a paper. My apologies; it shall not happen again."

"Hmph! You think that since you're in the First Brigade that simply apologizing is enough! I'm sure the Head would let this go if you said 'I'm sorry'—"

"Please," the blonde interrupted, suddenly bowing beyond a ninety degree angle, stopping all the words ready to spew from the Third Brigade Captain's mouth. "Please, I sincerely apologize for any inconvenience, and I assure you that it is nothing of importance."

The other blonde's sneer slowly melted into a cold smile and he chuckled; a false sound of mirth, the greatest form of irony there is. "That is a most proper position for you, Usaki-kun." Before he could continue, Mikoshiba stepped in front of Usaki.

"He's already apologized, Kamijou. Beat it." His eyes flashed warningly, his thick lashes darkening his expression.

"Of course," chirped the other captain cheerily, as if he were accepting a cordial invitation to a birthday party. "I realize. Usaki-kun, do stand up."

The blonde did so haltingly, his eyes narrowing as the green-blue-eyed captain held out a hand.

"I believe that handshakes, in the Western world, stand for everything. Agreements, contracts, forgiveness, comradeship, goodbye…Even when _giving something back_, it's cordial to shake hands. Please, do."

Mikoshiba seemed as if he wanted to slice the sly man's hand off, or preferably blow it to pieces, but settled for growling low in his throat.

"My, what a feral sound, Captain. It sounds almost threatening," laughed the small man. "Usaki-kun, it's rude to leave me without a handshake if I'm offering one!"

The blonde took the hand carefully as if it would burn him, shook the hand with the proper firmness, but almost jumped when something slipped into his palm. The blondes locked eyes for a moment—one impassive, the other, laughing quietly. When Usaki tried to let go, Kamijou continued to keep a firm, and warning, grip on his hand.

"Remember, Usaki-kun, a handshake means many things. We'll say that this handshake was a thanks from you to me. Trust me, you will thank me in the very, very end." As the handshake was released, Usaki resisted the overwhelming urge to wipe his hand on his jeans.

Kamijou sauntered towards the door, his step effeminate and light; almost flirtatious. Then, he looked back over his shoulder to the other blonde and gave him a brilliantly synthetic smile. "I believe you were looking for that, am I right?"

The door shut behind him quietly; Usaki thought he had never heard anything louder in his life.

~:-:~

_An author's note will be attatched to the beginning and end of each chapter, and for any suggestions or questions, please do not hesitate to review or PM O.Y.. I will get to you ASAP._

_Thank you, again, for your indulgence._

:-**Kaida**-:


End file.
